


the knife my mother held

by atreacherousoldwitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, But not explicit, Character Study, Death Eaters, Dysfunctional Family, Everyone lives, F/M, Family, Gen, Sisters, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Times are Changing, but not as much as you might think, happy ending (we only have happy endings here lol), little bit of bad language, mentions of death and torture (Bellatrix has done some bad things)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25913770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atreacherousoldwitch/pseuds/atreacherousoldwitch
Summary: For all that Lucius goes on and on about the importance of blood, sometimes Narcissa thinks he doesn’t understand it at all.Or: four times Narcissa puts blood above everything else, and one time she doesn’t.(because, after all, what does blood mean if not family?)
Relationships: Past Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40





	the knife my mother held

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU, and a character study. My inspiration came from the questions, ‘what happens if Regulus asked for help when he needed it? And what if Narcissa realises what’s important earlier in the story?’ It’s canonish - we end up in the same places eventually, but the players are slightly different and I’ve saved a couple of characters from their canon deaths lol. 
> 
> There’s canon typical references to war, but nothing is explicit. There’s a couple of instances of bad language, but not much more than that. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

————

**Regulus**

————

After, Narcissa joins her in-laws for dinner.

The spread is lovely, rich meats and red wine in silver goblets. The men talk politics, and the women gossip; the kind of insidious creeping judgements that Narcissa has known her whole life, and it takes no effort at all to join in.

She refuses to pass Draco off to the house-elf, so she sits with him tucked against her breast, and coos to him in response to his babbling. His hands clutch at her hair, at her necklace. She rocks him gently, pats his back, and it hides the way her hands are shaking.

She still has dirt under her nails. She can see flakes in her nail beds, hidden, hopefully, by her manicure, but there. She can’t pick at it. That would be impolite in present company, so she sits and ignores the filth on her hands until Draco starts to cry and she can escape to the bathroom.

————

She can still see Regulus’ face in her mind’s eye, even now as she changes the baby.

Her cousin is barely more than a boy, nineteen years old, and she can still see the way he trembled when he whispered ‘Cissa he’s going to kill me. He’s going to _kill me_ ’ as he knelt in the dirt outside his mother’s house. 

She had taken his muddy hand in hers and thought, _no. He’s not._

_————_

It’s not a gamble. Narcissa doesn’t gamble. She certainly doesn’t act unless she’s certain of the outcome; yet it’s a _risk_ nonetheless.

But one that pays off. Not even a year later the Dark Lord is gone, and Regulus is not.

He’s hidden, smuggled out of the country to France. To a house her father bought as a cover for some of his more questionable ventures. The wards are dark, built in curses and paid for in blood, but there’s one thing that every Black knows, and that’s not to distrust family. So even though Cygnus had never intended anyone to use it, Regulus has no trouble accessing the inadvertent safe house. The wards know him.

He stays there, and waits out the rest of the war and doesn’t breathe a word of the secret he knows. Narcissa sends food and books, and ignores the way Aunt Walburga worries and Druella criticises.

————

October 1981 comes and goes, and with it Bellatrix and Sirius’ life sentences.

Regulus returns to England in time for Christmas.

Family dinners are silent now. A weekly penance Narcissa pays for playing by the rules, and she ignores how the empty places around the table glare. Lucius dominates every conversation.

The house of Black is not what it once was.

When Regulus peers at Draco closely, strokes his chubby baby cheeks and smiles, Narcissa feels fond.

When she looks across the table at her husband she doesn’t, and she thinks _I’ve made a mistake._

————

 **Andromeda**

————

Four years and a divorce later, Narcissa visits Diagonally regularly.

Ostensibly to shop, or for afternoon tea, but in reality she goes so she can interact with adults, because although Draco is an excellent conversationalist, for his age, his preferred subject matter is Babbity Rabbity, and it wears one down eventually.

It means that she’s kept very well up to date on the gossip in Madam Malkin’s, and in Abigail’s tea shop, where she spends almost every Wednesday afternoon. Sometimes Friday too.

What a sad existence, she thinks morosely. Approaching thirty, and the highlight of her social calendar is a pathetic little tea shop that she only frequents because she’s guaranteed to not bump into her ex-husband.

Draco grins up at her from behind his hot-chocolate, his eyes wide and dimples on show, and she softens.

_Her darling._

————

It’s over six months now, and Narcissa can safely say that she’s a ‘regular’ in Abigail’s. She uses this newfound status to give one poor waitress called Polly some stern advice. Honestly, girls these days need to respect themselves more.

‘There is absolutely _no reason_ to let a boy treat you like that,’ she says, over her second cappuccino, and Polly watches with damp eyes and smudged eyeliner, so Narcissa fishes out her handkerchief and hands it over.

And as she pats the poor girl’s hand, and shifts Draco’s mug away from the edge of the table so he doesn’t spill it, she realises that Josette Lestrange has just walked in.

Josette. She's not a _real_ Lestrange, Narcissa remembers, only via marriage or a distant cousin, something like that. And she’s only recently adopted the Lestrange name, likely since Rodolphus and Rastaban were sent to prison.

Harpy, Narcissa thinks snidely.

Her girls are spotty teenagers, and they’re laughing or teasing some other girl. And it’s none of Narcissa’s business, the last thing she wants to do is get into any kind of conversation with Josette.

Except -

Except when she shoos Polly back to work, and assess the situation properly from the corner of her eye, the young girl they’re teasing is -

She must be. Narcissa can see the Black cheekbones and dark eyes, Druella’s nose, and pink hair ( _pink?_ ) aside, the girl is clearly a Black. Andromeda’s daughter. Surely. Probably.

She doesn’t think too hard. She scoops Draco up, and from halfway across the cafe she calls, ‘Josette’, in that sickly sweet warning voice she uses when Draco won’t listen.

Josette looks up, alarmed.

‘Narcissa?’

Narcissa joins them, and she points her finger at Josette’s two girls and tells them sternly, ‘You mustn’t tease. You must be polite if you want to get anywhere in life. No man is going to want a snotty, rude harpy.’

‘But look at her hair,’ one of them whines, and Narcissa does.

Cropped, pink. Utterly ridiculous, but the girl glares up at her, no recognition in her eyes, and there’s some spark there that Narcissa doesn’t dare put out.

‘Lovely,’ she deems, ‘better than your limp locks,’ she says to the whining girl. ‘Josette, I can recommend some hair care if you’re interested?’

Andromeda’s daughter snorts, Josette doesn’t.

‘How dare you?’ She starts, but then -

‘Nymphadora,’ Andromeda calls, and Narcissa turns to lay eyes on her sister for the first time in almost a decade. 

Andromeda is very beautiful. Still, very beautiful.

Josette lets out a snide laugh, ‘oh, _Andromeda_ , I didn’t realise.’

There’s something tight in Andromeda’s expression. Tight and uncomfortable.

Narcissa can’t take it.

She remembers being seventeen years old, sitting on the steps in that old awful London house, whilst her mother screamed and her father shouted. Whilst her aunt judged and her uncle sneered. And Andromeda had sobbed, unable to hide the bump under her dress any longer. She remembers wishing she could stand between these horrible adversaries and her sister.

_Her sister._

She remembers not being brave enough. But she’s not seventeen any longer.

She shifts Draco to her other hip, looks down her nose at Josette Lestrange, and her ugly children.

‘Come now darling,’ she sneers, and wraps an arm around Nymphadora’s shoulders - _her niece_ \- she doesn’t dare look directly at Andromeda.

‘This is what you’ve chosen is it Narcissa?’

‘Chosen?’ Narcissa laughs, high and only a little manic. The resemblance to Bellatrix is, she’s sure, uncanny. Lets see if Josette remembers whose name she’s throwing around. ‘Oh no, there is no choice here, don’t be so stupid. I understand the importance of blood. Don’t you?’

Josette looks like she’s been slapped, and she gathers her daughters to her, and they scurry away.

‘Importance of blood?’ Andromeda says lightly, as though Narcissa’s arm is not resting on the shoulders of the niece she’s never met.

‘Blood is family, isn’t it?’

‘Tea?’ is Andromeda’s response.

‘Lovely.’

————

And that’s the start of something, or perhaps the reclaiming of something. She and Andromeda have tea once a week, and after a month or so they settle. 

Settle, because they’ve never really been friends, and their sibling relationship has always been dependant on Bellatrix. They’ve always orbited her, beautiful Bellatrix, loud and vivacious, so powerful and unforgiving. But without her, Narcissa is pleased to realise there _is_ a relationship, and it can be salvaged.

When she meets Ted properly, she shakes his hand and kisses him on the cheek, and she doesn’t think about blood ( _dirty blood_ ), she doesn’t think about muggles or animals as some of the cruder jokes go. She carefully doesn’t think at all.

And when he kisses Andromeda on the corner of her mouth, he smiles gently, and Narcissa thinks _he’s quite handsome actually,_ and then she thinks, _Andromeda looks happy._

When he shows Draco some old toys, and plays brooms with him for an hour on the living room floor, so Narcissa and Andromeda can talk, she thinks _ok._

————

And then, because nothing can ever stay private in this goddamn family, Regulus catches wind that she’s made up with Andromeda, and promptly invites himself to their tea dates.

————

The girls in Abigail’s give her a discount on her coffee from then on - apparently Nymphadora is friends with someone’s brother-and they always check in with her for advice on make up and boys. Narcissa steers them clear from a few teenage catastrophes, and encourages them towards others.

You’re only young once, after all.

————

 **Sirius**

————

Narcissa doesn’t believe in coincidences.

But it’s hard not to believe in divine intervention or something of the sort, when the one evening she’s late in the ministry sorting paperwork for Lucius, is the evening they re-capture her cousin.

The main concourse is quiet, and then suddenly heaving with noise. Aurors are shouting, and she only recognises Sirius in the crowd by the way he holds his head up, his shoulders back, by the way even in handcuffs he exudes arrogance.

It’s a family trait. Of course.

She could leave. No one has seen her. She could leave now, duck out the back and head home.

She doesn’t. 

————

The holding cells are a hell of their own, dark and dank, moulding and cold.

There is a slap of flesh on flesh, chains clattering, and Narcissa draws herself to her full height. She strides down the corridor, breezes into the interrogation room.

‘Oy,’ someone says, a man with a great orange beard and beady eyes, ‘you can’t be here.’

‘Out,’ Narcissa snaps, waving her hand. ‘Get out! We do not consent to questioning, under Wizengamot principles, article 89, subsection b, we have the right to legal aid. Get out.’

Sirius opens his mouth, so she points her finger at him as if he were Draco contesting bed time, and she snaps ‘Not a word Sirius. Don’t say anything until the lawyer gets here.’

And merlin help her, he actually listens.

Narcissa manages to shoo the rest of the aurors out, including the horrible man Moody, with his roving eye that makes her feel uncomfortable, so she sneers at him, and doesn’t rest until they’ve exited.

She’d better call the lawyer.

A glance at Sirius, who’s watching her closely, and she sits, perches really, the seats are _filthy,_ on the chair opposite him and pulls parchment out of her handbag. A few strikes, a signature, and the parchment disappears in a flurry of sparks.

Ogden, Macmillan, and Blackwood have been on retainer for the Black family for centuries. They’ll come immediately.

‘You look lovely Cissa,’ Sirius says eventually, ‘as always.’

‘Thank you darling, my divorce has done wonders for my complexion,’ and she puts her hand to her face framing it, tilting her head side to side. It’s a joke, of sorts, but also not.

Sirius grins.

‘You look well too,’ she says almost kindly, ‘considering.’

Sirius nods his head. ‘Considering,’ he agrees.

And it’s true. He doesn’t look like the unhinged maniac that graces the front page of the daily prophet. He’s obviously been well cared for, somewhere, despite his year long evasion from the authorities. She suspects Andromeda suddenly, she’d been sure her sister was hiding something the last time they met, but she hadn’t pressed it.

Sirius is thin, thinner than she’s ever seen him, not _quite_ gaunt any more. His hair is long, but pulled back somewhat neatly. His beard is trimmed, and his jeans and jacket ( _velvet, honestly Sirius_ ) are clean and new. There are tattoos on his hands, up his forearms and on his chest where it shows above the collar of his t-shirt.

She’d read once, when researching, of the long term effects of dementor exposure. How the body will eventually, in the particularly powerful, try and protect itself. The tattoos are manifestations of continued exposure to the kind of dark magic that will rot the soul, the body’s way of fighting back - protective runes, blood magic, as intrinsic and inherent as the blood in her own veins. She’s never seen such an effect up close.

But Sirius looks, surprisingly, sane.

She wonders what Bellatrix looks like now.

 _Less than sane,_ is Narcissa’s guess.

‘Why are you here?’ Sirius asks evenly. ‘I don’t expect you to be.’

It’s a difficult question.

‘What a disappointing generation we are,’ she sighs, ‘not one of us has done our duty properly.’

It’s not an answer. But it’s the only one she has.

‘Not one of us,’ Sirius says slowly, and she’s pleased to see he’s still quick. ‘Not even you?’

Narcissa only blinks.

‘Divorce,’ Sirius mutters a few moments later nodding slowly, ‘right. So you’ve got - what? - Two blood traitors, a psychopath, a -‘ he trails off.

‘An estrangement,’ she finishes, gesturing to herself, ‘and a disappointment.’

‘What a disappointing generation’ he says softly, a calculating look in his eye.

‘Indeed.’

————

Ernest Blackwood arrives twenty minutes later.

He’s professional, collected, he kisses her hand, and when she gestures to Sirius he takes everything in his stride.

‘Case of the century,’ she mutters, ‘if you can get him off, I’ll pay double.’

‘I’ll get off,’ Sirius says, leaning back in his chair, and he’s so _fucking_ arrogant, and she’s almost proud. ‘Because I didn’t do it.’

The tale he spins then leaves even Narcissa with her mouth open. Blackwood is practically salivating.

‘And you’ll testify under veritaserum?’

‘Yes.’

She understands then. He wants to be here. He’s planned this. He’s let himself be captured, to prove his innocence.

How very Slytherin of him.

————

When Andromeda arrives, in the early hours of the next morning, Narcissa gladly hands off responsibility of Sirius and the lawyer to her.

Narcissa signs a blank check, ‘for bail’ she says, and presses it into Andromeda’s lax hands.

She goes to Hogwarts, and invites herself in to Regulus’ quarters.

They’ve got a rat to catch.

————

Six months later, as the lines on her forearm start to darken and Regulus shows her the same on his, the verdict they’ve been waiting for comes.

‘Not guilty. Cleared of all charges.’

They don’t cheer. They are Blacks after all. But Andromeda wraps Sirius in a hug, and he clings on to her tightly.

The press are waiting outside the court, and they snap picture after picture of Sirius’ smiling face.

Something changes then, a cloud passes over his expression and Narcissa can’t read it. But it doesn’t matter because he walks to the side, slings an arm around Regulus’ shoulders and pulls him in, whispering to him.

They stand together on the steps of the ministry, handsome and proud.

Sirius reaches out a hand to Narcissa, and then Regulus drags Andromeda in to join them and wraps his arm around her waist. Narcissa strides into shot, and Sirius’ hand rests tentatively on her back.

Narcissa flips her hair, purses her lips into a smug smirk, hand on hip. It’s been a while since she’s done this, but she remembers how. Andromeda switches on the other side of Regulus, a mirror to Narcissa, and they stand tall, strong, _united,_ and the cameras flash blinding.

 _Fuck you,_ Narcissa thinks. To her mother who turned her back, to her aunt who was so disappointed in them, to Lucius who doesn’t understand blood.

They make the front page.

The headline ‘BLACK ACQUITTED’ blares out, and underneath a picture - Andromeda, Regulus, Sirius, and Narcissa.

‘Your mother’s going to be furious’ she had whispered in Sirius’ ear, and he’d grinned wide and open.

‘Fuck her,’ he whispered back.

————

 **Draco**

————

If Lucius is the biggest mistake she’s made in her adult life, then Draco is her reward for making it.

————

In the end, it’s easy as breathing.

The forbidden forest, dark and harrowing. A clearing.

The Dark Lord casts, and Harry Potter - who is only a boy, Sirius’ boy - doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. He looks his death in the eye and takes it, and Narcissa knows what a dead body looks like when it hits the ground, and it looks like this.

When she crouches over him moments later, her hand gentle on his chest, she can feel his heart beating as solidly as she can feel her own.

‘Is Draco in the castle?’ She barely moves her lips.

‘Yes.’

She stands. Looks the Dark Lord in the eye, and she _lies_.

‘Dead.’

 _You fool_ she thinks, _can’t you tell? Are you so blinded by your arrogance that you can’t tell how much I hate you? Can’t you tell, that Regulus and I are not yours? That we’ve never been yours?_

‘Dead.’ She says again, and her voice doesn’t waver. Mother would be proud.

Bellatrix shrieks.

————

The castle is full of carnage. Children dead, dying.

Narcissa doesn’t care. She only cares about her own child. She’s selfish, she knows, but Blacks always have been.

When she finds them, Draco has his arm thrown over his father’s shoulder, Lucius holding him up. They are both worn and bleeding.

Lucius surrenders Draco to her, and then his knees buckle. 

Draco looks shattered, red eyed and pale. What kind of mother is she, that she has not protected her son from this?

She strokes his face, kisses his cheeks and whispers ‘it’s ok, you’re ok my darling, oh my darling.’

They sit, and he rests his head in her lap and she shelters him.

The fighting is over. They are alive.

Narcissa is not a naive school girl who thought victory would be euphoric, but she did not think it would be like this.

————

They sit until Sirius finds them, his arms wrapped around Harry Potter, who is distinctly not dead, and they join Narcissa and Draco on the floor.

Potter slumps against Sirius, face pressed into her cousin’s neck. She’s never viewed Sirius as particularly _paternal_ , but it’s a good look on him.

Draco reaches up a hand and twists a stray lock of her hair around his finger and sighs.

_Her darling._

‘I’m sorry maman,’ he whispers softly, ‘for the role I’ve played in this.’

And she brushes the apology away, ‘don’t think on it my darling,’ she whispers back, ‘don’t seek forgiveness from me, you have it, you always have it.’

He rests against her, a mirror of Sirius and Potter, and she strokes his hair.

Lucius watches on, silent. When she meets his eye, she doesn’t understand the expression, but it’s not a bad one.

Longing, maybe. But for her or for Draco she doesn’t know.

 _Let him long,_ she thinks. _Maybe he’ll understand now._

————

Harry Potter tells the world that she saved him. That she saved them all.

When Sirius asks, because of course he does, she tells him the truth: that she knew Draco was in the castle, and she would have done anything to get to him.

He seems to respect this more.

————

**And Bellatrix**

————

Narcissa stands in the midst of battle, frozen. She doesn’t know who she’s supposed to be fighting; whether she fights with the Death Eaters to keep her cover, or if she shows her hand and turns on them. She doesn’t know where Regulus is, what decision he’s made, whether he’s still alive.

Her heart is pounding in her chest, and she casts shield after shield, deflecting curses and hexes alike.

Bellatrix is battling the Weasley woman - Molly? - whose husband is Narcissa’s distant cousin. His mother was a Black, she remembers distantly, though disowned for marrying a blood traitor.

They’re only a few meters in front of her.

She can see what’s going to happen. And worse, Narcissa knows she has the power to stop it.

She could stop it.

But she doesn’t.

She thinks of Alice and Frank Longbottom, tortured to insanity, a fate worse than death. She thinks of Sirius, who Bellatrix nearly killed in the Department of Mysteries, of the auror she did. Of all the men and women and children her sister has killed in cold blood, and tortured and -

She watches it happen, and when Bellatrix falls to the floor dead, Narcissa feels a sick stab of grief.

And guilt.

Molly Weasley meets Narcissa’s eyes, and there’s a question there. Whose side are you on?

Narcissa turns and curses Rosier. His back is to her - he doesn’t think her a threat - and it’s easy. He drops to the floor before he even understands what’s happened.

 _Yours._ She thinks. _I’m on your side._

Cards on the table.

————

They claim the body - or rather Andromeda does - and they bury her in the grounds of the house they used to visit over the summer. It’s a small cottage, with a thatched roof and an interior that expands far past the exterior.

They don’t mark the grave. There’s no headstone or epitaph. All it would take is for someone to let slip, and then Bellatrix’s grave will become a place for people to take their revenge. There are no shortage of those who would like to dance on it, or piss on it, or worse, Narcissa is sure.

There are others who would make her a martyr. Less now, but they still exist. They’ve hidden her from them too.

It’s a sad burial, for a woman who seemed so _permanent,_ a fundamental of all their lives, but it’ll do.

They plant flowers over the grave, and water them each day, and Bellatrix would have hated it. 

But Bellatrix doesn’t get a say anymore.

————

There’s a strange guilt that surrounds her grief.

How can she mourn a murderer?

How many other families mourn their loved ones because of the choices Narcissa’s sister made?

The others understand - even Sirius, for all that he’s been estranged the longest. They hold vigil in the summer house for the better part of a week, and then return to reality.

————

_Plus one_

_————_

They sit in Abigail’s, Narcissa and Draco, waiting for Sirius and Potter - _Harry._

It’s been a hard year, but Narcissa feels light and giddy as the girls catch her up on the gossip she’s missed, and they may think she doesn’t see the way Polly’s little sister is fluttering her eyelashes at Draco but she does.

Please. She _invented_ that look.

But it’s not entirely unreciprocated, if the pink flush on the back of his neck and the shy glances back are any indication. Narcissa graciously pretends not to see.

When Polly catches her eye from behind the counter - she’s gown into a lovely young woman with a very handsome husband - Polly rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Narcissa winks.

This is a good thing, she thinks. Let him flirt and be light hearted, for once.

Sirius and Harry arrive in a flurry of activity, and they all fuss for a moment, ordering coffees and cakes (Polly brings over Narcissa’s order automatically, they take good care of her here).

And then they settle.

————

They’re still there an hour later when Walburga Black walks in.

She’s there to see them, there’s no doubt about that. This is not the kind of establishment Walburga frequents.

Sirius inhales his coffee so quickly he nearly chokes, coughing and spluttering, as Walburga draws level with them.

Narcissa doesn’t let her aunt throw her off. She’s looked the Dark Lord in the eye and lied - Walburga Black is _nothing._

‘For you,’ she says to Narcissa, ignoring Sirius and the boys completely, and hands over a heavily embellished envelope made of expensive parchment.

Narcissa knows what this is.

She takes it gently from Walburga’s hand, and with no ceremony rips it open and skims the letter of disownment.

Sirius’s face says that he knows exactly what the letter contains. Of course he does. He’s received one of his own.

‘Why now?’ Narcissa asks idly, taking another sip of tea.

‘You’ve gone too far,’ Walburga says. The cafe is silent. Polly is watching from behind the counter.

‘You bring disgrace upon us. You divorce your husband. You collaborate with blood traitors, muggles and mudbloods. You align yourself with _Harry Potter.’_

Harry looks like he’s about to say something, but Sirius squeezes his shoulder and keeps him quiet.

‘You have no respect for blood.’ Walburga finishes, dramatically. Narcissa rolls her eyes at the theatrics.

‘I put blood before everything else,’ she says, ‘I always have.’

‘You do-‘

Sirius gets to his feet, the chair scrapes on the floor loudly. He rounds the table and the look on his face is terrible - angry and hard. He leans in close to Walburga, using every inch of his height, and to her credit she doesn’t flinch.

‘You,’ Sirius says lowly, ‘are nothing more than a bitter old woman, who can’t see the value of what she has. Narcissa has done more for this family than you ever have. She has brought us back together, paved the way for us to be a family again, and you will have no part of it. One day, you will be dead. We are the future of house Black.’

‘You-‘

Sirius reaches out, quick as a snake, and grabs her wrist. He squeezes, hard, and Walburga looks down. Narcissa takes another sip of tea.

‘Leave. Now.’ Sirius spits.

Merlin help them, she does. Walburga turns on her heel, and strides away.

Narcissa has no doubt that her mother and father will hear about this. Perhaps they already know.

‘And don’t come back, you bitch,’ Sirius calls after his mother’s retreating back, and he reaches across the table to grasp Narcissa’s hand.

Gryffindor loyalty, she thinks initially.

But then, no.

It’s something more than that isn’t it? The same thing that made Narcissa call a lawyer for him, made her defy the Dark Lord, first for her cousin and then, years later, for her son. Made her tell Josette Lestrange to fuck off. Politely.

Blood. And not, necessarily, pure blood. _Their_ blood.

‘You didn’t have to do that for me,’ she murmurs, ‘she’s a Black too. It wouldn’t have mattered. Blood is blood after all.’

Sirius looks at her carefully as he sits back down. 

‘Do you know,’ he says, ‘that all these years I thought when you said blood, you meant ‘pure blood supremacy’. But you don’t, do you? When you say blood, you mean _our_ blood. You mean family.’

Narcissa shrugs, lightly.

‘Isn’t it the same thing?’

‘I suppose.’

‘If you go after her, she might forgive you.’ Narcissa tries, even though she knows it’s unlikely. ‘She’s your mother Sirius.’

‘You’ve done more for me than she ever has.’ Sirius says, starkly, and that thought hangs for a moment between them. There’s an understanding here, as if they’re seeing each other clearly for the first time.

Sirius pulls his hand back and grins. Narcissa tucks her hair behind her ear. The boys look on wide eyed.

‘We should go away,’ Narcissa says, pouring another cup of tea and waving for Polly. ‘France maybe, for a few weeks. We deserve a holiday, don’t we?’

‘Together?’

‘Of course Sirius,’ she chides, ‘together.’

‘And Andromeda? And Regulus?’

‘Why not? The more the merrier.’

‘Blood’ Sirius says abruptly.

‘Family.’

‘Merlin I could do with a holiday,’ Sirius sighs.

‘Good. We’ll arrange it.’

And that’s that.

————

That evening, Narcissa sits at her dressing table and brushes her hair. She’s getting ready for bed, a deep exhaustion in her bones.

She’s seeing Andromeda tomorrow, to help her with her grandson; and then Regulus the next day to talk through lesson plans.

She has plans with Sirius for next week. Or rather, she has a table booked for two, for lunch. She suspects Sirius just wants an opportunity to get drunk in the middle of the day and bitch about his new job opportunity.

Blood. She thinks. Or family.

It’s just two different ways of saying the same thing, in her not so humble opinion.

She readjusts the picture pinned to her mirror. She should really find a frame for it, but she hasn’t had the chance. It’s the one taken after Sirius’ final day in court, the four of them standing on the steps of the ministry.

She loves it more than she cares to admit.

Family, she thinks with a small smile.

Family indeed.

————

END.

————

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of things - it’s implied, I think, that Regulus and Narcissa were some sort of spies. I kind of imagined them filling the role that Snape plays in canon, but I haven’t though it through more than that. Feel free to imagine as you will! 
> 
> I wrote this with the intention that the events of POA still happened re: Sirius (in case that wasn’t clear) but that the presence of Narcissa and Regulus changed the outcome. And then with an actual lawyer on hand, Sirius’ bid for custody of Harry actually happens and he wins the case. 
> 
> Finally, I don’t know about you, but I feel a bit like there’s potential for a spin off around Narcissa’s adventures in Abigail’s tea shop lol. I like the idea of a group of young waitresses imprinting on Narcissa as a sort of mentor figure, and then Narcissa teaching them (questionable) life lessons in exchange for free coffee. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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